I saw the ocean unfolding.
But really it was Torah.
Its pages going on forever.
And the weight of its history like the finality of its black ink.
Darkly, pulling me under.
But there in the sea of story,
I found light in the spaces between the letters
And in the blank parchment, I swear, I could hear our ancestors breathing with me.
Parting the waters through their exhale
Extending the scroll through the letters they took in at the mouth.
I saw the Torah unfolding.
But really it was the ocean made by each of us.
Carrying the scroll through the waves of our breathing.
